


sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines

by witching



Series: will in overplus [1]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Bureaucracy, Friends to Lovers, Jealousy, M/M, References to Shakespeare, Table Sex, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-29 22:10:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20089573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witching/pseuds/witching
Summary: "Being an angel was not so different from being a demon, insofar as the job went. The reports that Aziraphale sent up to Heaven, and Crowley sent down to Hell, were a dull and tedious part of the job, rife with all the arbitrary quotas and bureaucratic hoops to jump through that one could hope for. They were each expected to influence a certain number of people per year, and they were expected to keep records of the time and place and the actions they took, and they were expected to compile a portfolio to submit to their immediate supervisors."





	sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mercuryhatter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercuryhatter/gifts).

> this stemmed from a conversation about the fine line between love and lust and the way that the good omens universe allows for things to be a sin and a virtue at the same time. that conversation stemmed from another conversation about whether or not crowley fucked lord byron. so even though this did get a bit out of hand while i was writing it, it stayed true to the original spirit of the concept. it's also got an ending that's a very transparent setup for an even more self-indulgent sequel.
> 
> title is from sonnet 18 because even though this is tonally not a poetic fic it is about shakespeare and i am gay

In December of 1596, when Aziraphale and Crowley sat down to balance the books, as it were, they found they were both coming up short on their quotas. It was not the first time, nor was it the most concerning deficiency they'd had to cover for, and they were well practiced in the art of stretching the truth, so they set to work, writing for hours on end, until they could see the sun hinting at the edges of the horizon.

Near the end of the 12th century, it had become apparent to both Aziraphale and Crowley that they could sit down and file their paperwork together, helping each other with the reports just as they helped each other with the actual work. Their combined efforts and intellects meant that they were audited by their respective head offices far less frequently than before.

But it wasn't always as easy as it could have been, especially given the added advantages of the Arrangement. Crowley's blessings were always perfect on paper, as were Aziraphale's temptations. But Crowley had a dreadful tendency to do his temptations on the fly and forget to write them down, while Aziraphale had a terrible habit of blessing the wrong people whenever he wasn't given specific enough instructions. The effect of their difficulties, on the whole, was that when it came to filling out reports, they did rather a lot of embellishing and exaggerating.

"I'm tapped," Crowley sighed, checking off a box irritably. “I don’t know what else I can possibly count as a sin, and I’m three away from the minimum.”

“Only three?” Aziraphale paused in thought, pursing his lips. “Did you write down the thing with the broken wagon wheel?”

“Of course I did, angel, don’t patronize me.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to,” the angel mumbled. “You didn’t by chance happen to perform any miracles without telling me? I’m short by five.”

Being an angel was not so different from being a demon, insofar as the job went. The reports that Aziraphale sent up to Heaven, and Crowley sent down to Hell, were a dull and tedious part of the job, rife with all the arbitrary quotas and bureaucratic hoops to jump through that one could hope for. They were each expected to influence a certain number of people per year, and they were expected to keep records of the time and place and the actions they took, and they were expected to compile a portfolio to submit to their immediate supervisors.

Crowley huffed out a deep sigh, rubbing his eyes aggressively and dragging his fingers down his face. “I don’t know, I don’t think so. I don’t know. May have… accidentally encouraged some good will in the marketplace, or something. Actually, yeah, now that I think of it.” He brightened a bit, perking his head up. “I was trying to tempt someone else, but I distinctly remember briefly drawing the eye of a nobleman, who noticed a hungry orphan in his hurry to avoid my alluring display.”

“That’s something, I suppose,” Aziraphale admitted, writing it down. “Could you count the nobleman as another sin?”

“No,” Crowley grumbled, “each one has to be a discrete action. Could tempt a thousand people with one flip of my hair, still only counts as one sin.”

Aziraphale scoffed, affronted on Crowley’s behalf. “That’s rubbish,” he complained.

“You’re telling me,” the demon moaned with a pointed raising of his eyebrows. “Inefficient, is what it is. Don’t suppose you’ve been going around inspiring lust in your spare time?”

Halfway through opening his mouth to reply in the negative, Aziraphale froze, struck by a thought that took him several seconds to recover from. “Well,” he began, and then stopped to clear his throat. “You see, I’ve – that is to say, erm. Maybe.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes, trying not to glare, trying even harder not to think about the implications of the angel’s answer. This was a particularly difficult feat, given that he would need elaboration before he could count it on his report. “They ask for more than a  _ maybe  _ on the reports, angel.”

"Alright, yes," Aziraphale snapped, taking Crowley’s impatience for judgment. "Certain actions I have undertaken could be interpreted as tempting men to lust."

Sighing, the demon managed to keep his mind preoccupied with the tedium of the paperwork rather than fall into a spiral of thoughts about Aziraphale and lust. "Like what?” He tapped his quill absently against his chin. “I need a time and place, you know this."

"November 12th," Aziraphale muttered sheepishly. "The parish of St. Helen's in Bishopsgate."

Crowley almost laughed out loud, but quickly schooled his expression into one of mild interest. "How deliciously heathenous," he drawled. "And what, er,  _ actions _ did you undertake?"

The angel blushed fiercely, looking down at the table and pressing his lips together. Crowley saw this and seemed to realize that he was being facetious when Aziraphale was genuinely uncomfortable, a habit he'd been trying to break. Feeling guilty, he took a breath and softened his tone before speaking again. 

"Angel," he murmured, waiting for Aziraphale to look up and meet his gaze. "It's okay if you don't wanna talk about it. I'll… I'll think of something else to put down."

Shaking his head, Aziraphale sat up straighter and calmed himself. "No, it's fine, I don't want you to get in trouble. I'll tell you. Just… don't make fun of me, alright? Can you do that?"

"Of course I can," the demon assured him in gentle tones. "It can't be that bad. What'd you do, flash an elbow at someone?"

"No," Aziraphale huffed indignantly. "You're making fun of me already."

"I'm not, I'm not. I'm sorry," Crowley said in a rush. "I'll be quiet, just tell me what happened so I can write it down."

Aziraphale took a deep, steadying breath and tried to speak in as unaffected a tone as possible. "I didn't just  _ tempt  _ him," he mumbled guiltily. "We… engaged in relations."

"You what?" Crowley's eyes went wide and he stared gaping at the angel. "You? With whom?"

Thinking himself past the difficult part, Aziraphale hardened his voice to something businesslike and cold. "Is that a necessary piece of information for your yearly report?"

"No, I suppose it isn't,” the demon replied cautiously.

"Then I think I'll be keeping it to myself."

Crowley smiled. "That bad, huh?"

"It's not bad at all," Aziraphale said shrewdly, channeling his energy into his haughty indignation so as to avoid thinking too hard about that night. "It's just none of your business."

It  _ hadn’t  _ been bad, of course; Aziraphale had very much enjoyed it, and he found himself thinking he might do it again, if the opportunity arose. He just knew that if he allowed those thoughts to pervade his mind at this moment, in this company, if he remembered the sights and the sounds and the sensations too vividly, it would lead him down a bad road. Best to stick to the pertinent information, the angel thought, and avoid discussing any details with Crowley.

"Okay, okay," the demon soothed, nodding his head in understanding. He was quiet for a long moment before saying anything else. "I'm just curious, though: what were you trying to do?"

Aziraphale blinked at him. "I'm not sure I know what you mean."

"I mean, you didn't set out to do me a favor by inciting lust," Crowley explained. "So what were you doing?"

"I was – well. It was for me." Aziraphale paused, hoping in vain that Crowley might accept his vague answer and change the subject, but he didn't. "I wasn't trying to do anything for Heaven or Hell, I was just spending time with a friend and it – it escalated."

"Won't you get in trouble for that?"

Aziraphale shook his head. "Heaven doesn't see it as lust, per se. It's not a sin, so long as there aren't bad intentions or consequences." His eyes widened suddenly, a grin spreading across his face as he started writing again. "Actually, I'm sure I could pass it off as a blessing."

Crowley simply arched an eyebrow at him. "How so?"

"Gifting a mortal with a moment of divine ecstasy," Aziraphale replied, a mischievous tilt to his voice. No details, he reminded himself, but he couldn’t keep a comment like that to himself, not when Crowley was right there, and he would appreciate it so much. The angel smiled.

It was contagious, and Crowley laughed with him for a moment before an idea occurred to him. “In that case,” he said wonderingly, “I could give you a few of mine to fill out your list.”

Aziraphale furrowed his brow, pursed his lips. “A few of your what?”

“A few of my… intimate experiences from the past year.” Crowley paused, biting the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. “Most of them started with bad intentions on my part, but a few were – you know. For me.”

Aziraphale gave a small, grateful smile. “Alright,” he said amicably, “if you wouldn’t mind. That would be a great help.”

“Sure, angel, of course.” Crowley stopped to think about which encounters he could share with Aziraphale for work, and one in particular stuck out. He tried to collect his thoughts and get through it in a professional manner. “Erm, I suppose the best one would be the one with the greatest positive effect, yeah?”

“Yes, I should think so,” Aziraphale replied, blissfully detached, speaking with only a mild sense of curiosity.

Unable to contain it any longer, Crowley cracked a wild grin, snickering before he could stop himself. “Okay. It was, er,” – he laughed again, and then he laughed harder at the befuddled look on the angel’s face – “it was November 15th, at the parish of St. Helen’s in Bishopsgate.”

The angel’s expression of intrigue and utter confusion quickly transformed to one of embarrassment and indignation. “You’re mocking me, Crowley. It’s cruel.”

“I swear to you, I am not.” The demon, unable to stop smiling at the unlikeliness of the coincidence, tried his very best to sound as sincere as he actually was. “This is the truth, and it’s hilarious. I’m sorry, but it is.”

Aziraphale’s face hardened further. “Then who was it?”

“You don’t need to know that,” Crowley answered defensively, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

“I want to know,” the angel insisted. “I’ll tell you mine, but I want to hear yours first. So I know you’re telling the truth.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows and shook his head in a sort of  _ well-you-asked-for-it _ gesture. “Well, you asked for it,” he warned, just a hint of teasing in his voice. “It was Will Shakespeare.”

“No.” 

“What do you mean, no?”

“No,” the angel repeated, his eyes darkening with an emotion akin to softened fury. “No, no, no, you  _ can’t  _ have this. Tell me you’re lying.”

Genuine concern slowly overtaking his amusement, Crowley wrinkled his brow. “I’m not lying, angel,” he said in as soothing a tone as possible. “Are you okay?”

Aziraphale groaned pitifully. “I didn’t think – I mean I knew – he’s  _ married, _ after all, I harbor no delusions – but why did it have to be you?”

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Crowley said, bewildered. He knew Aziraphale was unhappy about something, and that he had caused it, but he didn’t know what it was or how to fix it, and he felt the threat of panic coming on. “Can you manage one full sentence?”

There was a short pause during which Aziraphale steeled himself and grit his teeth, closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and then he spoke in quiet, strained tones. “It’s not fair,” he muttered. “I just thought that if there was one area of my life that wasn’t full of you, it would be the area concerning who I  _ sleep  _ with.”

It dawned on Crowley much more slowly than it strictly should have, and he gasped when the penny finally dropped. “Him? You and him? Really?”

“Yes, really,” Aziraphale huffed.

“Well. You got to him first, isn’t that a good thing?” Crowley tried to lighten the mood, but Aziraphale glared daggers at him; he put his hands up in a pacifying gesture. “Sorry, sorry,” he mumbled. “But – it’s just, what’s the issue, really? So we can both put it down on our reports, and we can both move on with our lives, no harm done, right?”

Aziraphale clenched his jaw to stop himself from saying something he’d regret. Truth be told, he didn’t know why it was so upsetting to find out that he and Crowley had both had sex with the same man. He knew, on some level, that it was upsetting to find out that Crowley was having sex with anybody, but he knew also that it was hypocritical of him to feel that way, and he knew doubly that he was not going to say anything about it. He wasn’t jealous, not really, it was more like wistful longing. It was a voice in his head saying  _ That could be me, _ but the only person he faulted for it was himself.

When he finally opened his mouth to speak, all Aziraphale could say was, “So you’re not going to do it again?”

Crowley stared for a long moment. “Are you asking me if I have any plans to fuck Shakespeare a second time?”

Aziraphale’s stomach did a little flip at the demon’s vulgarity and bluntness. He had been doing pretty well, so far, at not imagining the scene in his mind’s eye, but hearing that phrase from Crowley’s mouth made it that much more difficult. It seemed to echo in the angel’s mind in slow motion, Crowley’s smooth, husky voice talking about  _ fucking Shakespeare, _ and Aziraphale couldn’t help but picture it. He already knew firsthand what half of the equation looked like, and all it took was to let his mind run wild with the possibilities regarding Crowley’s face, his body, the noises he would make, the words he would say, how he would  _ taste  _ – 

“I don’t, for the record,” the demon cut in, blessedly interrupting Aziraphale’s thoughts. “Not that he wasn’t good. I just don’t really see it happening again, we didn’t click, you know? Something about his smell, or his technique, I don’t know.”

Biting his tongue again, Aziraphale found his inner monologue shifting into a repetitive litany of  _ Stop talking, stop talking, stop talking, _ but he knew Crowley wouldn’t stop, not if he stayed quiet. “Yes, I get it,” he said, trying not to snap at the demon. It wasn’t his fault. “I get it,” he repeated bitterly.

“What about you?” Crowley cocked his head to the side, gazing curiously at the angel. “I didn’t mean to assume – I mean, if you  _ were  _ going to, I wouldn’t – it’s not my business, but I wouldn’t mind.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Aziraphale muttered distractedly. “Some friends are better as friends, without complicating things like that.”

“Sure,” Crowley agreed, a bit apprehensive at the angel’s tone. “I will say, though, I inspired a sonnet, so the complications might be worth it.” Reading the mood of the room in a rare moment of self-awareness, Crowley decided against making a comment along the lines of  _ That’s a net gain for the world, thanks to my bomb pussy. _ It was true, but he was fairly sure it wouldn’t go over well with Aziraphale.

The angel scoffed faintly, but didn’t say anything to indicate why. He looked down at the paperwork on the table before him, fixing a contemptuous glare on his own curling handwriting, and then shuffled the papers into a neat stack before using a miracle to deposit them safely in a drawer of his desk. “I’ll finish it later,” he muttered irritably.

Proceeding with caution, Crowley did the same with his own pile of papers, then narrowed his eyes at Aziraphale. “Angel, are you okay?”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said hastily, “why wouldn’t I be?”

Crowley shook his head, grateful that the angel was still looking down and therefore couldn’t see the expression of pure worry and guilt on his face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, sounding more broken to his own ears than he would have liked.

Aziraphale looked up at that, his brow wrinkled deeply. “What do you mean, you’re sorry? What are you sorry for?”

“You’re obviously uncomfortable,” Crowley answered, frowning. “We don’t usually talk about these things, and I know you like your privacy. I should have kept my mouth shut, but I pushed it.”

“You didn’t,” Aziraphale breathed. “You didn’t push it, it’s fine. Just being you, I get it.”

“What do you mean, just being me?” Crowley tried his very best not to sound hurt, but his mind was running wild with the implications of the statement. He felt bad, he felt like he’d overstepped his bounds and made Aziraphale upset, and if the angel thought that was just how he behaved in general, well, he didn’t quite know how to process that.

Aziraphale took a breath, shaking his head. “I just mean you didn’t do anything wrong. I’d tell you, if you had.”

“Would you?”

“Of course I would,” Aziraphale replied, now sounding a little bit hurt, himself. 

“Then will you tell me why you’re upset?” Crowley’s brows were drawn up and together, his eyes softened. “If it wasn’t something I did, I mean. What is it?”

Thinking about it rationally, it was a very loaded question. Aziraphale couldn’t very well explain it, not least of all because he didn’t understand it himself, but also because he wasn’t in the habit of analyzing his feelings like that. He preferred to move on quickly and distract himself from potentially difficult and confusing conversations. 

Crowley, on the other hand, had a frustrating desire to understand everything. He was always asking questions, delving deep into his own psyche and Aziraphale’s, trying to get to the bottom of the why and the how of it. He was, as Aziraphale had said, simply being himself. There was a lot to uncover, and he deserved to have those answers, the angel thought, he deserved to understand, but Aziraphale just didn’t know how much he could help with that.

The excavation began with another deep inhale-exhale from the angel. Breathing, at least, was still easy. “I don't know," he began cautiously. A half-truth couldn't hurt, he thought, it was better than nothing. "I don't like thinking of the two of you together, I suppose. It feels wrong."

"What kind of wrong?" Crowley pressed his lips together in a hard line, deep in thought. "Wrong like two spheres of your life colliding, or wrong like – like you wanted him for yourself? Or wrong like… like thinking about sex at all is wrong? Or wrong because I'm there?"

"I don't  _ know," _ the angel snapped. "It's not the second one, that's for sure. Not like I thought I had some exclusive right to him."

Crowley nodded, blinking slowly. "Okay," he said softly, and then he shut up, leaving a painful vacuum of silence.

"Stop psychoanalyzing me."

"I'm not."

"You are too," Aziraphale insisted, rolling his eyes. "You're trying to  _ get _ me. Stop it."

Throwing his hands up in a parody of surrender, Crowley held back a chuckle. "Sorry," he muttered. "You're unknowable, I forgot. My bad."

"I am  _ not  _ unknowable, I just don't appreciate you scrutinizing me like I'm some kind of science experiment." Aziraphale lay his palms flat on the table and looked up at Crowley's face. "I would prefer not to think about you and sex at the same time, is all, I don't think it's a complicated concept."

"So it  _ is _ me, then," Crowley retorted, caught halfway between wounded and amused. 

"No, it's not you," the angel sighed, inordinately frustrated by the conversation. "It's me, okay? I don't like putting you in that context in my mind because I don't like what my mind does with it."

Crowley gave him a deep frown, his chest squeezing uncomfortably. "I don't know what that means. It sounds like more of your ineffable nonsense. What am I supposed to do with that?"

"You don't have to  _ do _ anything, Crowley, just stop talking about it." Aziraphale set his jaw and clenched his teeth, giving way to another awkward period of quiet. 

It felt like an eternity before Crowley shifted in his seat, looking at the angel curiously. "Is it… angel, do I make you… I mean… are you  _ attracted _ to me?"

"Of course not," Aziraphale replied hastily, emphatically. "You're a demon."

"I'm a rather attractive demon," Crowley pointed out matter-of-factly. "Attractive enough to fantasize about, perhaps."

"You're vain," the angel bit out.

"I'm honest," Crowley shot back. "Shakespeare thought I was plenty attractive. He told me so, many times, while we were fu–"

"Shut  _ up, _ Crowley." 

Aziraphale's glare was scathing enough to stop the demon in his tracks. He snapped his mouth shut, raising his eyebrows at the angel's venomous tone, and leaned back in his seat. Feeling bold, he kept his gaze leveled on Aziraphale's face, waiting for him to say something else.

"You were just apologizing to me a few minutes ago," the angel said at length, "for pushing it. Now you're really…  _ really _ pushing it."

Crowley gave a sympathetic nod. "Noted and understood," he said, "but I have something to say." He waited to make sure Aziraphale wasn't going to stop him before continuing, speaking slowly and hesitantly. "I think there are ways to get around some of the difficulties you may be having."

"Like what?" Aziraphale sounded more irate than interested in the explanation, but Crowley pressed on, regardless.

"Say, for instance, that I was planning on corrupting a poor, innocent human soul by tempting them to lust." Crowley looked at Aziraphale with a pointed raise of his eyebrows. "You'd be well within your rights, nay, your duties, to see to it that my efforts were thwarted."

Aziraphale shook his head in confusion. "I don't understand."

"I'm saying… well. Look at it this way, alright? If I set out to tempt Will Shakespeare, to dirty his soul, as it were, and you set out to bless him with divine ecstasy, it should cancel out, right?"

"Right," the angel replied apprehensively.

"Right," Crowley continued, smiling, with a newfound air of satisfaction. "Now, I think, if we undertook those tasks… simultaneously… it might be rewarding for everyone involved."

There was a beat, then Aziraphale laughed. Not a laugh of amusement, but one of disbelief and bafflement. "What the Hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you and me," Crowley explained, becoming just a trifle impatient. "You and me and Shakespeare, if you'd like. Together."

"Together? In – together in bed?"

"Anywhere, really, I'm not picky."

Aziraphale balked. "That's ridiculous. It's unthinkable."

Crowley hummed a sardonic sort of agreement. "Sure," he drawled casually, "I expected you'd say as much. Alternatively, of course, you could simply distract me from my demonic work." He let a meaningful pause drag out longer than was entirely necessary. "After all, I can't possibly be tempting a human to lust if I'm already tied up in something else."

Swallowing nervously, Aziraphale stared at the demon with wide eyes. "Tied up?"

"Figure of speech," Crowley assured him. "Unless you'd rather it be literal. The point is, if you're keeping me occupied, I can't be getting up to any wiles, and I think the acceptable methods of distraction are quite flexible." He thought for a half second before adding, "As am I, for the record."

"Then you'd just be tempting  _ me," _ Aziraphale pointed out desperately. “That’s what you’re doing right now, Crowley, you’re tempting me.”

"Mm-hmm," Crowley answered immediately. "That's the best part – we can  _ both _ chalk it up as part of the job."

"But it isn't." It wasn't a protest or a contradiction; it was simply a statement.

"No, it isn't. It's – it's whatever you want it to be, angel."

Aziraphale took several deep breaths, closing his eyes and attempting to sort out everything that was happening. After a long few moments, he spoke without looking up. "Remind me how Shakespeare factors into this?"

Crowley flashed a wide smile that the angel didn't see. "You said you didn't like  _ imagining _ us together," he said, heroically maintaining his air of nonchalance, "so I thought you might want to see it for yourself. An interactive learning experience. A self-fulfilling fantasy. A –"

"Please just speak to the purpose, Crowley, you're killing me."

"Fine," Crowley huffed, only slightly put out by the angel's lack of appreciation for his artful euphemisms. "If it strikes your fancy, I would quite enjoy having you and him at the same time."

"Oh," Aziraphale squeaked.

“But if not,” Crowley added hastily, “I would also quite enjoy just having you.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale echoed.

"Think about it, yeah?"

"Trust me, I'm  _ absolutely _ thinking about it."

Crowley grinned again, feeling rather pleased with himself. "Good," he muttered under his breath, then added, louder: "It really would make the paperwork so much easier."

That sparked something in the angel's memory, and he sat up straight. "Are you still behind on your quota?" He snapped back into business mode as if he'd never left, bringing his papers back to the table and staring intently at the four open spots where blessings should be.

Crowley nodded, following the shift in mood quickly and easily. "Need two more," he lamented.

Aziraphale sniffed and pursed his lips. "Tell you what," he said, sounding almost conspiratorial. "You give me two more of your intimate experiences, then I'll have two left to go, and we can… collaborate to fill out the list."

"March 3rd, Godscroft, Berwickshire. July 27th, Marischal College, Aberdeen." Crowley didn’t hesitate for a second, practically spit the words out in a rush, impatiently waiting for Aziraphale to write them down. "Both were standard, just write whatever you wrote for Shakespeare."

"Didn't know you were such a fan of Scotland," the angel mused as he filled out the forms. 

"Yes, yes, laugh it up," the demon said. "And then write down December 23rd, London, Soho, right on this table if I have any say in it. Twice."

Aziraphale tutted in amusement. "Patience is a virtue, my dear," he murmured.

It was unfair, Crowley thought, that he had been the one to come up with the idea, the one doing all the explaining and convincing, and yet now that the angel was on board, he suddenly had no control over the situation. Unfair, yes, but also rather intriguing. His mouth went dry at the thought of Aziraphale exercising his  _ control _ in other ways.

"You'll forgive me, then, for not having much," Crowley replied eventually, the words coming out a bit choked. He watched as Aziraphale set down his quill and looked up to meet his gaze, his eyes darkening, and the tone of the room shifted perceptibly once more. 

"If you don't mind," the demon said slowly, playing up the pretense, "I'm going to go tempt someone now, unless I find something better to do."

"Oh dear," Aziraphale murmured, a dangerous edge to his voice. "I certainly can't allow that to happen. It would be terribly unangelic of me to simply let you walk away to sully an innocent human soul."

"Well, what are you going to do about it?"

They were both standing, now, which was an advantage for Aziraphale as he reached across the table and pulled Crowley into a crushing kiss. Maybe he was a very good actor, or maybe it was a genuine effort on his part, but the angel's kiss burned; Crowley felt he should get on his knees and confess, he felt he should offer benediction, he felt he should be purer and better for it. He didn't want that, not really, but it was the name of the game, and he rather liked the game.

They pulled apart, both panting heavily, and there was but a second of empty space before they were scrambling to undress, a chaotic mess of hands and fingers and buttons and clasps, a few minor miracles speeding the process along. In short order, Aziraphale had pinned Crowley to the table, his arms bracketing the demon's waist, and dove into another hungry kiss, drinking it in for a few seconds before he moved to suck a mark into the sensitive skin at the base of Crowley's throat. Crowley squirmed and whined, two things he would be loathe to admit to doing, and Aziraphale pulled back with a low chuckle.

"I've wanted to do that for so long," he whispered, hovering over Crowley and looking down at him in admiration. He held his position for several seconds before seemingly remembering that he had an act to keep up. "Thwarting you, I mean. I've always wanted to – to stop you from committing a sin."

Crowley smiled, not smug or self-satisfied like he so often was, but contented. "That's right, angel," he replied hotly, "thwart me till I can't walk straight."

“As you wish,” Aziraphale murmured, setting to work on ministrations with his hands that would incapacitate Crowley enough to stop him talking. “For the good of humanity, of course,” he added, soaking up the delicious sounds the demon made.

Crowley writhed, his breath coming in quick, short bursts, wriggling his hips to aid the work of the angel’s fingers. He was somewhat grateful, actually, that he couldn’t say anything, because he found himself thinking some rather embarrassing thoughts that he would prefer to keep to himself. Halfway through that thought, however, Aziraphale did something marvelous, and Crowley wailed, arching his back off the table.

Aziraphale smiled at him, always more put together than he deserved to be. “You’re close, aren’t you? You make it almost too easy,” he breathed, but the taunt lacked any proper punch behind it. “Come for me, then,” he coaxed, his sickly sweet tone belying the merciless work of his hands.

Letting out a high, desperate cry, Crowley tumbled over the edge, bits of his vision going white. Aziraphale didn’t give him but a moment’s pause to recover before he was gripping the demon’s hips with magically clean hands and pushing into him, taking him without reservation or hesitation. With whatever was left of his mind, Crowley thought it was just like Aziraphale to be so direct as soon as he was in the thick of it, to be kind without being gentle, to be sensitive without being soft.

That was all a rather euphemistic way of saying that Crowley was very much enjoying the angel pounding into him with enough force to move the table, and he was vocal about his enjoyment, though not necessarily verbal. He moved his hands above his head to grip the edge of the table for stability, at which point Aziraphale released his tight grip on the demon’s hips, allowing his hands to sweep through Crowley’s hair, stroke his cheek, run smooth lines down his sides. At a certain point, nearing his own finish, he decided it was a priority to make Crowley come again, so he focused his efforts downward until their mingled sounds of ecstasy crested and fell, giving way to heavy breathing.

After regaining control of his mental and physical faculties, Crowley sat up on the edge of the table, eyeing the angel, who was half-dressed already. “That was good,” he said simply.

“It was,” Aziraphale agreed. 

“I think…” Crowley paused for a long moment, pretending to be deep in thought. “I think I was a bit hasty earlier.”

“About what?”

Crowley grinned. “Whatever the issue is with Will, it deserves some more attention,” he said, not quite joking, but definitely teasing. “I mean, it might be worth it to experiment with different positions, see if that makes it better. I may have to tempt him many, many times.”

Aziraphale glanced over at the demon furtively, trying to suppress the smile playing on his lips. “I may have to stop you,” he replied in a faux-threatening tone, then smoothed his face into a more serious expression. “What is it about the two of us, though, really? Is that – is that something you want?”

“Maybe,” Crowley answered with a shrug.

“Why? What’s the appeal?”

Frowning, Crowley hopped down from the table and began to dress himself. “Stop psychoanalyzing me,” he mumbled. “I just think it would be nice, is all.”

Aziraphale arched an eyebrow at him. “Nice how? Explain to me how this goes, in your ideal scenario.”

“My ideal scenario?” Crowley pondered it for a minute, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. When he answered, he spoke far too casually, looking directly into the angel’s face. “It’s you and him, taking me from both ends, filling me up. Not too complicated, is it?”

“No,” Aziraphale said, his eyes wide, voice a bit strangled. “Not too complicated at all.”

Crowley nodded once, satisfied with the answer, as he finished doing up his last buttons. “Alright then,” he declared, “it’s a date.” 


End file.
